


Making Movies

by Antosha



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Community: smutty_claus, Drunk Sex, Exhibitionism, F/M, Holyhead Harpies, Love Actually References, Luna Lovegood Being Luna Lovegood, Minor Femslash, Office Party, Post-Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Post-War, Quidditch Player Ginny Weasley, Semi-Public Sex, Sex While Watching a Movie, Smutty Claus 2019, Voyeur Luna Lovegood, Voyeurism, Workplace Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:42:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24482212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antosha/pseuds/Antosha
Summary: Ginny usually loves the Harpies’ Christmas bash. But not this year, because Harry isn't there.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Luna Lovegood/Rolf Scamander
Comments: 6
Kudos: 40
Collections: Smutty Claus Exchange





	Making Movies

**Author's Note:**

> This was my entry for the last :sniff: smutty_claus exchange. My giftee was LRThunder
> 
> Author's notes: LRThunder — thanks so much for the wonderful prompts! I had great fun with them, and I hope you enjoy where I went.

Ginny usually loved the Harpies’ Christmas bash. The food was good, the drinks were flowing, and her teammates cut loose — even the notoriously uptight Gwenog.  
  
And the previous two years, once everyone had got properly pissed, she’d dragged Harry off, and they’d indulged in a particularly sweaty, particularly spectacular shag.  
  
The first time, two years before, they’d started snogging in the hallway outside the bathrooms, when Glynna Bourgeois, the Harpies’ star Keeper, had stepped out, glared at them and snarked, as always, “Get a bloody room.”  
  
And so, giggling, they had: they’d snuck into Gwenog’s office. There, Harry had pressed her face-first into the boss’s chalkboard, lifted the back of her dress, and fucked her until they were both screaming.  
  
Last year had been even better. They’d managed to break into the board room, shagging with gleeful abandon on the big, glossy table before sneaking back into the party, no one the wiser.  
  
That is, until the executive committee meeting the next day, when board secretary Minerva McGonagall had found Harry’s boxers floating in the ice bucket behind the bar. There hadn’t been any way to identify whose undies they were (though Harry swore there were some Auror forensic spells he’d have been able to use). Still, the higher-ups at the club had been Not Pleased.  
  
And so this year, the invites had been very explicit: no spouses, no significant others — no men. Or outside women. But still. No Harry.  
  
Leaning against the entrance with a half-empty glass of spiced firewhisky singeing her fingers (how many had she had so far?), Ginny stared glumly at her teammates, all of whom seemed to be having a grand old time. Gwenog and Sheila, the office manager, were dancing a jig on a table to much clapping and hooting.  
  
Ginny wanted to be dancing. With Harry. Horizontally.  
  
In front of all of these cheering people, her legs wrapped —  
  
As she lifted the glass to her lips, someone sidled up behind her and a smoky voice whispered, “You know, Weasley, if you want someone to take the edge off those glass cutters, I’m happy to help.”  
  
_Great._ “Thanks, Glynna,” Ginny sighed, crossing her arms in front of her chest and spilling whisky on her blouse. “Sadly, you lack a dick, and even more sadly, you’re not my husband.”  
  
The keeper snorted. “Fucking newlywed.”  
  
“Hey, don’t knock it if you haven’t tried it.”  
  
“Yeah, no. Like being single. Like finding another lady every night.”  
  
Now it was Ginny’s turn to snort. Glynna certainly seemed to be make the most of being unattached. “Fair enough. But you’re going to need to find someone other than me.”  
  
“Even if I get you a refill?”  
  
“Won’t matter how drunk you get me, Glynna. I’m straight. I’m married. I’m sure Breanna would be happy for your attentions.” Ginny gestured with her glass at one of the team’s youngest players, sloshing more whisky where it wouldn’t do any good.  
  
“Sweet Breanna is nice, but I’ve already partaken.”  
  
“Slut.”  
  
Glynna winked. “Says Ginny Weasley.”  
  
“Hey! I don’t sleep around.”  
  
“Yeah, but having almost walked in on you and Wonder Boy so many times, I know you love sex.”  
  
That was true, and the thought made Ginny pout. “What do you think — would anyone miss me if I slipped out?”  
  
“Going to go and ravish the Boy Who Bonked?”  
  
“Abso-bloody-lutely.” Ginny handed her glass to Glynna. “I’m leaving to go fuck my man. Have fun.”  
  
“Oh, I will.”  
  
“Ta-ta,” said Ginny, delivering a smooch to the keeper’s cheek. “Give my best to _Sweet Breanna._ ”  
  
“Give my best to the Boy Who Got Lucky!”  
  
As surreptitiously as she could, Ginny wove her way to the exit.  
  
Really, Ginny knew she shouldn’t Apparate while drunk. Splinching wasn’t a laughing matter. But management had shut down the Floo, and Ginny wanted to get home _now_.  
  
She managed to arrive at the front of her and Harry’s building intact, all body parts still connected, so she figured she could wait to yell at herself about doing something stupid until tomorrow.  
  
For tonight…  
  
For tonight, she wanted her husband inside of her, his mouth on hers… Walking up the stairs, she realized she didn’t want to wait to drag him into the bedroom. Wherever she found him, she’d tear off his clothes and…  
  
Throwing open the front door, she was about to howl out his name, but she saw him, sitting in the living room…  
  
With Luna. Sitting with Luna. Watching a movie.  
  
_Right.  
  
Fuck._  
  
He’d told her he’d invited Luna over to watch some… movie. Some Muggle holiday movie. And her sexy-pants husband and her best friend were both blinking up at Ginny, Ginny standing there with her _glass cutters_ on full display, her panties humid, her mouth thick — with passion as much as alcohol. “Hi.”  
  
“Ginny!” Luna tottered over, throwing her arms around Ginny. “You look as if you can’t decide whether you’re very hot or very cold.”  
  
“‘Bout right,” grunted Ginny, staring at her husband, who was licking his lips.  
  
  
“Also,” mused Luna, “you smell like you’ve had rather a lot of whisky.”  
  
“Have.”  
  
Luna led Ginny into her own living room. “Come along. We’re watching a very confusing film.”  
  
“Confusing?” Ginny looked over at her husband.  
  
He shrugged. “Let out early?”  
  
Pouting again, she toddled over and plopped herself in his lap. “Wasn’t as much fun _without you._ ”  
  
“I bet.” She could feel the smirk in his kiss.  
  
Turning and leaning against him, figuring this was the best she could hope for — Luna was too sweet and lonely to kick out, though Ginny was sorely tempted — she turned to see what they were watching...  
  
And was shocked — _shocked!_ — to find, paused on the screen, the two pastiest people she’d ever seen, completely naked, expressions bland, but bodies locked in just the kind of embrace she’d been visualizing for herself and Harry. “Are you...?” She turned and glared at her husband. “Are you watching a _porno_ with my best friend?!”  
  
  
“What’s a porno?” asked Luna as she rag-dolled into the sofa beside them.  
  
When her husband just gawked at their friend, Ginny snarled, “It’s a fucking film where fucking people fuck.”  
  
“Oh,” said Luna, sounding at most mildly interested.  
  
“This isn’t a porno,” chuckled Harry.  
  
Ginny simply raised an eyebrow and pointed at the screen.  
  
“They’re… I guess they’re called stand-ins or something? They’re… I don’t know. But they’re not actually screwing. It’s actually a very sweet love scene.”  
  
“Uh-huh.”  
  
“Come on. Watch with us.” And he turned the movie back on.  
  
It was sweet. It was also, as Luna had said, confusing. There were dozens of characters in more overlapping but seemingly unconnected relationships than Ginny’s whisky- and lust-fogged brain could unlock. The boffing couple who weren’t really boffing. A man and his son. Another man — who looked strangely like Snape — apparently contemplating an affair with his secretary?  
  
“This is a Christmas movie?” she whispered.  
  
“Apparently,” Harry whispered back. “Keep watching.”  
  
So on they watched.  
  
All the while, Ginny was squirming in her husband’s lap, trying not to start grinding against his crotch.  
  
As an Englishman and a woman — Mexican? Brazilian? — started chasing a bunch of manuscript pages into a pond, Ginny looked over at Luna, who was munching on banana chips, misty blue eyes wide and completely focussed on the movie.  
  
A perverse impulse roared through Ginny, and — drunk and randy as she was — who was she to deny it? So she didn’t.  
  
She let her knees float outside her husband’s, pressing her crotch down against his. Then she began to rock. Minutely, but enough that she knew she’d stoke his fire and hers.  
  
They’d dry humped early in their relationship, but not for years. The idea of grinding her husband in their own living room while clothed might have struck Ginny as ridiculous the night before, but tonight, it set her booze-thinned blood boiling. While Luna lounged, obliviously watching the film and nibbling at her snacks, Ginny leaned forward slightly so that her pussy now pressed directly — well, through her undies and her skirt — against the rapidly growing lump at the front of Harry’s jeans.  
  
He hissed, and she shot him a grin over her shoulder. He had his stoic Auror face on — _nothing to see here, move along_ — but she could tell she was getting to him.  
  
As was so often true in their sex lives, Harry’s restraint, his self-control, spurred Ginny on. She continued the back-and-forth slide of her crotch against his, but began to add a side-to-side rock, so that now she was gyrating minutely against him, and it felt…  
  
It felt glorious. Fucking fabulous. And knowing Luna was right there…  
  
Harry’s long fingers closed around Ginny’s waist. At first she was worried he might try to still her, but no, he wasn’t guiding — his hands followed her pelvis’s dance as it moved against his.  
  
Her clit and nipples buzzed.  
  
Merlin. Why hadn’t she tried this before?  
  
Because she’d never had to before; whenever she’d been this worked up, she’d simply stripped off, or lifted her skirt, or yanked down her pants, and they’d shagged. Gloriously, fabulously, wondrously.  
  
But this… This was pretty bloody nice too.  
  
So Luna could stay. For now.  
  
On the screen, some sad sack and a woman with a stupid-arse hat were themselves watching something — shots of the woman at her wedding, over and over and over. Who were these people again? Why were they supposed to care?  
  
Ginny didn’t care. What she cared about was the feeling of her crotch moving against Harry’s, about the glimmer of bliss that was just beginning to peek over the horizon.  
  
Harry’s hand — the one opposite Luna — began to tug up the back of Ginny’s skirt. She leaned forward a bit, her hands on his knees, to make it easier to remove that one layer…  
  
Ah. Much better. Oh, fuck yes — much, much, much…  
  
Amazing what the removal of a thin scrap of fabric did to add to the sensation radiating from between Ginny’s legs.  
  
Now the only thing between her and her husband (well, fine, her husband’s denims) was her soaked, tiny panties, which did nothing to dull the friction they were building or the pleasure that friction was providing.  
  
Much better.  
  
Back to the dad with the Northern Irish accent and his kid again. _They_ were watching something. Was this a movie about watching movies?  
  
Fuck it. Ginny couldn’t have cared less. To be honest, she was barely registering what was happening on the screen, because what was happening in her groin was _way_ more interesting.  
  
Her husband’s fucking fabulous, fucking fantastic fingers drifted back up again, but instead of coming to rest back at her waist, his left hand slid up and forward and cupped her gently heaving breast.  
  
Way more interesting.  
  
Harry had many, many marvellous methods for bringing Ginny off. Lips, teeth, tongue. Cock, of course — he could fuck her to screaming orgasm after screaming orgasm once he’d cum once. Hell, he’d diddled her to complete gelatinous satisfaction just a few weeks before with his bloody toes, for fuck’s sake. And that wasn’t even including the toys they’d occasionally engaged in their play.  
  
But if Ginny had to choose the tool of Harry’s that gave her most pleasure — with which he was the most talented — it was his hands. Strong, supple, sensitive. Long-fingered and nimble.  
  
And the index and middle finger on his left hand were now dancing like flame over her bouncing nipple, sparking intimations of ecstasy that made it almost impossible for Ginny to stay quiet.  
  
She bit her lips. Both of them. Bit them hard.  
  
On the screen, an office Christmas party that looked like even less fun than the one she’d just escaped. The Snape-like boss man was dancing with his secretary, who was wearing devil horns, because, you know, subtle. _Tough tits,_ thought Ginny. _You’re not going to have as much fun as I am, asshole. Bitch._  
  
After a while — some American woman had taken home a man to shag, but she wasn’t going to have as much fun as Ginny either, no, no — Harry detached his ever-loving fingers from her ever-needy tit, and even with her lips clamped tight between her teeth, she couldn’t hold in her whimper of disappointment. Closing her eyes, keeping her pelvis gyrating against his, she willed his hand back to her breast where it belonged, only...  
  
Only she felt it push under her bum. She had a moment of panic that he was going to start fingering her arsehole — they’d played at that more than once — but no: his fingers pressed between their grinding crotches and tugged down his zipper. Then he reached in and began to pull out his erection, bringing another whimper from Ginny but encouraging her to lean forward once more, lifting away from him just enough to allow him to pull her soaked knickers to the side, lining the beautiful, wonderful tapered head of his cock up with her deliriously hungry pussy and…  
  
Really, Ginny had excellent impulse control, though no one ever believed it — especially not her mother or her idiot brother Ron. But she can be forgiven, can’t she, if, feeling her husband enter her as she had been dreaming of him doing all evening, allowing her weight to press her down onto him, sending her already singing nerve endings into full scream… She can be forgiven, surely, if, in that moment, she completely forgot her best friend Luna, who was seated right beside her on the sofa, and screamed, “ _Oh! Fuck! Harry! YESSS!_ ”  
  
As soon as she felt his balls brush her pubic mound, however — as soon as she had him fully planted within her — _then_ she remembered Luna, remembered that they had been trying to fuck without being noticed, and was appalled at her own insensitivity (even as she was thrilled in a way that she wasn’t sure she wanted to examine). She looked over at her friend and…  
  
And there sat Luna against the far arm of the sofa, looking right at Ginny — or rather, looking right at where her bottom was pressed against her husband’s lap — smiling that infuriatingly vague, wide-eyed Luna smile. One knee was up against the back cushion, one hand seemed to be absent-mindedly tracing the raised circle of Luna’s right areola through her blouse, and the other hand was under her skirt. When she noticed that Ginny and Harry weren’t moving, she simply nodded, still smiling, as if to say, _Go on, please.  
  
Well. Okay, then._  
  
Ginny rocked forward again, her weight on Harry’s knees, then rocked back, and this time it was Harry who swore as his cock plunged into her, and that sound made Ginny’s tummy flutter, as it always did.  
  
The previous summer, just before the wedding, out eating fabulously spicy Indian food on a double date with Ron and Ginny’s soon-to-be-sister-in-law, and Hermione had been talking — surprise, surprise — about work, about winning some case to do with Muggleborn rights or something.  
  
Delighted to see Hermione so worked up, Ginny had asked what it felt like to win a case like that.  
  
After a moment of reflection, Hermione hummed and said, “Well, it’s like… It’s _better than_ public sex!”  
  
And then all of them — Ron included — had laughed, and had spent the rest of the night teasing the usually demure Hermione about just what else was better than public sex, and just where had she _had_ this public sex — and with whom?  
  
It was a mark of how much Ron had grown that he was more than happy to play along. So long as he wasn’t the butt of the joke.  
  
Ginny had thought a lot about that later that night, after a wonderful, very private bout of very private sex with Harry. Would she like to be watched? Would she like to fuck somewhere where anyone might see?  
  
She and Harry had both certainly enjoyed fucking in places where they might have been discovered — Gwenog’s office and the board room, true, but also the shed outside her family’s house, the changing rooms at Hogwarts….  
  
Most of the time, they had chosen those locations out of necessity and sheer randiness — desperation. But if Ginny were being honest with herself (and feeling as good as she did in that moment, really, why not be completely honest?), there had always been a thrill of the forbidden, of possibly being caught. When Ginny had told Harry the year before about their former house head finding his boxers in the ice bucket, they had both laughed like school kids — but then they’d fucked like the adults they very much were.  
  
As they were very much fucking now.  
  
Harry was thrusting up into her, growling when their pelvises collided, pushing her up and off him again before the next blissful round started. His hand had found its way back up to her breast — under her blouse, now, and under the bra — and she was growling right back at him.  
  
And all of the while, Ginny was very much aware that her best friend — who was, to the best of Ginny’s knowledge, still herself a virgin — was playing with herself while watching them fuck.  
  
Ginny looked over and locked eyes with Luna. She couldn’t say anything, couldn’t ask what Luna was thinking, because somehow if they talked about this, the spell would be broken. But sharing this — knowing that Luna was watching and enjoying — made Ginny’s heart expand and her pussy contract.  
  
This was without a doubt…  
  
The sound of Harry’s hips slapping up against her arse was hypnotic. Between that and those blue eyes….  
  
If Harry had asked Ginny earlier that evening not to go to the party, had suggested that they stay home and let Luna watch them fuck, she’d have laughed, flipped him the bird, and told him they could discuss his oddball fantasies when it was his birthday and she was up for anything (as he always was two weeks later for hers).  
  
And yet here she was, and the oddball idea had been hers. Or perhaps she had been the oddball idea’s, because it didn’t feel…  
  
It felt…  
  
It felt _wonderful._ Beyond wonderful. So good there were no words, and she was full, full of Harry, but also full of love and joy and ecstasy and…  
  
And her heart expanded.  
  
And her pussy contracted.  
  
_HARD_.  
  
Ginny rarely came just from being fucked. Usually it was Harry’s mouth or his fingers (or Ginny’s own) or a toy or…  
  
And yet she was coming now, and coming so hard that she felt as if she were collapsing inward toward the center of the pleasure, toward the bright, dark explosion inside of her, and the flame _was_ her, and…  
  
And Harry arched, screaming, lifting her high into the air, and…  
  
And infinity beckoned, inviting her beyond herself to the edgeless edges of creation, and she was everywhere and nowhere, all at once.  
  
When she came to herself again, she was leaning back against Harry. They were both panting as though they’d both just been running for their lives. Their clothes were soaked through with sweat, and cum and her juices were spilling out onto his crotch, and they were both weeping. Her arms were around his, clutching her tight as he sobbed into the back of her neck.  
  
There’d been a reason she’d wanted this so much.  
  
This was why she was alive. This was why every awful thing that had ever happened — Tom Riddle, Dolores Umbridge, the Carrows — didn’t matter, because this was real. This was love, and life, and everything else could bugger off.  
  
Friends. Friends were good.  
  
Luna.  
  
Still gasping for air, her husband still planted deep inside of her, Ginny looked over at her friend.  
  
Luna’s expression could usually be described as _vaguely blissful._ There was nothing vague about it now. “Thank you,” she said. “That was much less confusing than the film.”  
  
Ginny answered the only way she could think how: “You’re welcome.”  
  
Luna nodded as if she’d actually said something meaningful. “I’ve always wanted to see that — see the two of you make love. It was far more beautiful than I had even hoped.”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
“Also,” mused Luna, letting her leg fall back from where it had flown over the back of the sofa and smoothing down the front of her skirt, “it was much less frightening than I thought it might be.”  
  
“Frightening?”  
  
“Well, yes. Rolf and I, when we’re studying creatures’ mating behaviors, you know that some of them are rather terrifying?”  
  
“Terrifying.” Ginny was reduced to an echo.  
  
“Yes. Clappert females bite the head off of the males once the males climax, for example.”  
  
“Yeah. Terrifying.”  
  
“But what you were just doing…” Luna frowned, an odd look on her wide, smooth forehead. “I think perhaps I enjoy just watching. Is that something people do?”  
  
“Yes,” rasped Harry into the back of Ginny’s neck. “That’s why there’s pornos.”  
  
“Porn…? Oh!” Luna gave a bright smile. “‘Fucking movies about fucking people fucking.’”  
  
“Yeah,” Ginny laughed.  
  
Harry chuckled along, and then said, “Movie’s over.”  
  
Movie? Ginny blinked, having totally forgot the thing they were watching.  
On the screen, random people were greeting each other at an airport — hugging, crying, laughing, smiling. Over. Or beginning.  
  
“Perhaps,” mused Luna, “we can watch it together again some time?”  
  
“Sure,” Harry grunted.  
  
“Sure,” sighed Ginny, feeling contentment and joy and love flow through her. “Abso-bloody-lutely!”


End file.
